


Aziraphale and Crowley go on an Airplane

by YellowFlannelFrog



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Airplanes, Flying, Fun, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowFlannelFrog/pseuds/YellowFlannelFrog
Summary: Exactly what the title says.
Kudos: 1





	Aziraphale and Crowley go on an Airplane

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a lot of planes, so I put my knowledge to use in a fanfiction.

It had been Crowley’s idea. “Airplanes,” he’d said.   
“What about airplanes?” Aziraphale asked.   
“We should ride one.” When Aziraphale looked dubious, Crowley added, “The train was fun.”  
It had been Aziraphale’s idea to ride the train.   
“Besides,” Crowley pressed, “I know you’ve missed flying.”  
Aziraphale gave in. “Where do we get tickets?” he asked.   
“Online, I think,” answered Crowley.   
“You’ll have to show me how to buy mine then.” Aziraphale wasn’t very good with computers.   
Crowley coughed. “Er,” he said. “I was hoping you could pay for mine as well.”  
Aziraphale stared at him.   
“Seeing as how I don’t have a source of income,” Crowley continued. “Besides, you’re supposed to be the nice one.”  
“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale relented. 

Crowley parked the Bentley in the airport parking lot and he and Aziraphale got out. Aziraphale was holding a bag. It was large and shapeless, with a hideous plaid outside and leather handles.   
“What’s with the bag?” Crowley asked. He hadn’t brought a bag.   
Aziraphale looked at it. “I wasn’t sure how long we would be away,” he said.   
They entered the airport. Aziraphale went to check in and get their boarding passes. Crowley admired the architecture.   
“I got them!” Aziraphale said, waving the boarding passes excitedly as he walked back to Crowley.   
“So where now?”  
“The lady at the desk said to go to security.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. He stood by a station on which he had placed his bag.   
“What?” asked Crowley.   
Aziraphale held up a small plastic bag. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to fit in here,” he replied.   
“Hell’s bells, Aziraphale!” hissed Crowley. “We’re travelling for one night at most! How many liquids, gels, and aerosols did you pack?”  
Embarrassed, Aziraphale reached into his bag and pulled out toothpaste, hand cream, mouthwash, nail polish, sunblock, hand sanitizer, and shaving cream, which he piled on the counter. Sighing, Crowley snatched the plastic bag from Aziraphale and filled it with the toothpaste, hand cream, and sunblock. Then he added the nail polish because it was small.   
“What about the rest?” asked Aziraphale.   
“You don’t need it,” answered Crowley, pushing the shaving cream toward the hole for garbage.   
Aziraphale snatched it back. “But what if I do?”   
“When have you ever shaved?”  
“Well- but-” Aziraphale fought for composure. “You could take the rest! On to the plane, I mean.”  
Crowley glared at Aziraphale over the top of his sunglasses.   
“Please,” Aziraphale added.   
“Fine,” sighed Crowley. “But the shaving cream stays here.”  
Crowley put the mouth wash and hand sanitizer in another little bag and tossed the shaving cream in the garbage. 

“Boarding passes?” asked the woman at security. Aziraphale handed them over. “I’m going to have to ask you to remove your belt,” she added. “No metal on your person.”  
Aziraphale and Crowley dutifully removed their belts and put them in the trays. Aziraphale removed his suspenders for good measure.   
“Sire,” the woman addressed Crowley, “you’ll need to remove your sunglasses.”  
Crowley paused. “What sunglasses?” he asked.   
“The ones you have on,” the woman replied, not amused.   
Crowley sighed and removed his sunglasses. He strode through the metal detector and waited anxiously on the other side. When Aziraphale went through the metal detector it beeped.   
“Oh dear,” he said, troubled. “Did I do something wrong?”  
“Just random selection,” a man in a security uniform replied. “I have to either swab your hand or give you a pat down. Your choice.”  
“Um,” Aziraphale gulped. He weighed the options. Hand swabbing sounded like forensic science and a pat down sounded like being poked. “Pat down?”  
Crowley watched amused as the man made Aziraphale spread his arms and solidly patted him from head to foot. Another man took a spoon shaped device that held fabric and wiped the inside of Aziraphale’s bag. He then handed it back to Aziraphale.   
“That looked fun,” Crowley said, passing Aziraphale his belt and suspenders.   
“Not really,” muttered Aziraphale, putting them back on. 

They found their gate fairly easily. A baby a few rows away started crying.   
“Do you think that baby will be on our flight?” Aziraphale asked Crowley.   
“Probably,” Crowley yawned.   
“Oh dear.” 

The baby stopped crying a little before boarding was called. “Shit,” muttered Crowley. “I don’t have government issued photo ID.”  
Aziraphale blanked. “Me neither. What does that include?”  
“Driver’s license?” Crowley guessed. He reached into a pocket and pulled out an ID. “There.”  
Aziraphale did the same. Crowley looked at it.   
“Aziraphale East,” he read. He turned to Aziraphale. “Very imaginative.”  
“I’m under pressure, okay?”  
The person at the boarding pass station scanned their boarding passes. “Aziraphale?”  
Aziraphale nodded and held out his ID.   
“You’re Emery Aziraphale?”  
Aziraphale cursed under his breath. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That’s my father’s ID.” He produced a different ID.   
The attendant raised an eyebrow but only asked, “Anthony Crowley?”  
“Yup.” Crowley held out his ID.   
“I need you to remove your sunglasses, please.”  
Crowley sighed but did as he was told. The person glanced at him then did a double take.   
“Thanks,” said Crowley, shoving his sunglasses back on and taking the boarding passes and IDs from the attendant’s now limp hand.   
“Have a nice day,” Aziraphale blessed awkwardly before hurrying after Crowley. 

Their seats were right at the back of the airplane. Being the last row their row only had two seats instead of three. Crowley slunk into the window seat as Aziraphale stored his bag in the overhead compartment. As Aziraphale took his seat he noticed that the young man across the isle was looking nervous.   
“Excuse me,” he asked. “What’s the matter?”  
The young man glanced at Aziraphale then slunk down in his seat. “Scared of crashing,” he mumbled.   
“I’m sure you don’t need to worry about that,” said Aziraphale assuringly. “The pilots are professionals.”  
The Beowing crashed,” the young man muttered sulkily.   
“Well- well- we’re not in a Beowing are we?” Aziraphale assured, slightly irritated that his attempts to cheer the boy up weren’t working. “Besides, we have seat belts to keep us secure.”  
“They’re pretty bad seat belts,” Crowley muttered.   
Aziraphale glared at him.   
“But I’m sure there are other safety precautions,” Crowley amended. “And the plane won’t kill you, it’s hitting the ground that will.” He smiled.   
The boy looked horrified and turned his back on them.   
“Thanks so much for your help,” Aziraphale grumbled.   
“It’s not my fault the seatbelts are terrible.”  
Aziraphale sighed. Then he asked, “What’s a Beowing?”  
Crowley shrugged. “No idea,” he said.   
The speaker system crackled to life as the flight attendants went over the safety systems and procedures of the aircraft. Aziraphale pulled the safety information card out of the seat pocket in front of him and looked at it. “Not very detailed, is it?” he asked Crowley.   
Crowley glanced at the card in Aziraphale’s hand.   
“Hold on,” he said. “This aircraft has an inflatable slide? Why don’t they advertise that? I hope that’s how we’ll get off the plane.”  
“I wouldn’t be able to take my bag on it,” Aziraphale said sadly. “No wait, I think that’s for crash landings. Not very detailed, as I said.”  
Crowley shrugged, disappointed.   
As the flight attendants walked to their seats at either end of the plane one of them reminded Aziraphale to put his seatbelt on. He grabbed one end guiltily and searched for the other.   
“You’re sitting on it,” Crowley whispered.   
“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered back, slightly embarrassed. He fished out the other end and did up his seat belt.   
The plane began to move. It trundled along at a steady pace. After making a few turns it paused. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, unsure whether this was normal airplane behaviour. Then the airplane started moving again, quickly picking up speed until it was moving at a forceful clip down the runway. Crowley and Aziraphale were pushed back against their seats and held there by an unseen force.   
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, turning to Crowley with a pleading look in his eye. “I don’t like this.”  
Crowley gulped. He also was not fond of the way the airplane was beginning to hinge upward.   
“It’s going to be okay,” Crowley whispered back. He took Aziraphale’s hand and gave the angel his best attempt at a reassuring smile.   
The plane’s wheels left the ground and the flight became much smoother. Out the window Crowley saw the city sprawl shrinking gradually.   
“We’re airborne,” he told Aziraphale excitedly.   
“Let me see,” Aziraphale asked.   
Crowley did his best to slink back in his seat to give Aziraphale a clear view out the window.   
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. He pressed his face against the window. Crowley coughed. Aziraphale didn’t notice. Crowley coughed again and prodded Aziraphale with his finger.   
“You’re crushing me, angel,” the demon mumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulder.   
Aziraphale sat back, blushing. “Apologies, my dear,” he said, patting Crowley’s hand.   
Crowley accepted the apology and adjusted his sunglasses.   
A few rows up the baby started crying again.   
Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look. Neither were acquainted with babies well enough to know how long babies cried for. After two painful minutes listening to the baby scream its head off, Aziraphale had had enough. “Crowley,” he whispered. “Would you be a dear?”  
“No can do, angel,” Crowley replied through gritted teeth. “Do you know how many people will tarnish their souls all because of one crying baby?”  
Aziraphale grunted. After a few moments of indecision he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, clutching the seat in front of him for support.   
“Aziraphale!” hissed Crowley. “What are you doing?”  
“Thwarting potential evil,” Aziraphale muttered bac. He tottered unsteadily down the aisle of the slightly shaking plane until he reached the row containing the crying baby.   
“Pardon me,” he said, “but I couldn’t help noticing that your baby is upset.”  
The baby’s parents looked at him, unsurprised.   
“Er,” Aziraphale continued. “I was wondering if a toy would make them happy?”  
“We’ve tried,” the baby’s father replied.   
“Well- a new toy?” Aziraphale offered.  
“If you have a toy you don’t mind parting with you are welcome to try.”  
Aziraphale pulled out a bunny. It was white, soft, and floppy. He held it out towards the baby. The baby looked at it and then kept crying. Aziraphale sighed and went back to his seat.   
“Didn’t work?” asked Crowley. Aziraphale nodded despondently. “Too bad,” Crowley hissed, “I was rather hoping it would. What’s with the bunny?”  
“Do you want it?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. Crowley gingerly took the rabbit and rubbed his cheek against it.   
“Very soft,” he said, miracling the bunny a pair of sunglasses.   
“Thank you,” said Aziraphale.   
“So the baby…?”  
“Not interested,” Aziraphale replied gloomily.   
“Ah.” Crowley contemplated his sad seat mate and the screams of the baby. He gave a large yawn, curling his tongue in a little circle. The baby stopped crying. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, surprised.   
“Did you do that?” he asked.   
“You know me, angel,” Crowley gave Aziraphale a devilish smile and stroked the bunny. “I’m much too bad to do something like that. It must have been you.”  
Aziraphale looked startled. “I suppose,” he said, “though I don’t remember doing it.”   
Crowley leaned closer, holding the rabbit up between them. “We’ll keep this between us,” he whispered.   
Aziraphale nodded, still slightly confused. Crowley sat back and listened to the silence gratefully. Aziraphale wondered if he was able to get his bag from the overhead bin. Crowley poked him.   
“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale asked him.   
“Er,” Crowley said, looking uncomfortable. “Do you think the airplane contains washroom facilities?”  
Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to look troubled. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe we can ask someone?”  
He looked around. All the passengers seemed to be listening to something or trying to sleep.   
“Bother,” he said.   
Crowley reached up and pressed a button with the picture of a person giving a drink on it.   
“Why did you do that?” asked Aziraphale, startled. “We don’t need drinks.”  
“No, but we need a person,” Crowley replied smugly. “And this plane can’t deliver drinks by itself.”  
One of the flight attendants appeared by their row. “What can I help you with?” she inquired.   
“Does this plane contain washroom facilities?” Crowley asked.   
The flight attendant pointed behind them. “There are some at either end of the plane. That sign overhead will tell you if they are vacant or occupied.”   
“Scootch over so I can get out would you angel?” Crowley asked, giving Aziraphale a gentle push.   
Aziraphale stood up and Crowley gratefully slid past him into one of the washrooms. The sign by the ceiling turned red.   
“Pardon me,” Aziraphale asked as the flight attendant turned to go, “but can I get my bag from the overhead bin?”  
The flight attendant assured Aziraphale that he could, so long as he closed the bin and stayed in his seat during periods of turbulence. 

The bathroom was much, much smaller than Crowley had expected. It was so small that had he wanted he could have used the toilet and washed his hands at the same time. The plane gently lurched beneath his feet, and Crowley decided that sitting on the toilet would be best. He manouvered himself around, bracing his feet against the walls so that he could sit down properly. When he finished he pushed the flush button. The sudden grating sound of flushing made Crowley cringe. It was so loud that he suspected Aziraphale could hear it through the wall. Crowley washed his hands and headed back to his seat. Aziraphale was immersed in what appeared to be a large, old, expensive book. “Angle,” Crowley prodded Aziraphale with his foot, “I need to get back to my seat.”  
Aziraphale tucked his legs back and held the book closer to his face so Crowley could get by. Crowley gave the minimal distance between Aziraphale and the seats a once over. “Thank you so much for your cooperation,” Crowley grumbled sarcastically.   
Crowley began his efforts slithering between Aziraphale and the seat. Grabbing the seat he manouvered his leg over Aziraphale’s. He then slowly pulled his other foot over towards the first. His foot caught on Aziraphale’s knee with a suddenness that Crowley was not expecting. With a yelp he tumbled forward and crashed face-first into the window.   
“Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbled into the glass. He turned his head and said again, louder, “Aziraphale!”  
“What is it dear?” Aziraphale asked, irritated, letting his book rest Crowley’s butt.   
Crowley gave Aziraphale the evil eye over the top of his sunglasses. “I’m stuck,” he said.   
Aziraphale took in Crowley’s situation. “I can see that,” he said.  
“Soooo,” Crowley supplied slowly, “do you think you could move?”  
Aziraphale tried to move his knee and jammed it into Crowley’s groin.   
“Ow!” Crowley squealed. “Not like that!”  
“Well then,” Aziraphale grumbled apologetically, “I seem to be stuck as well!”  
Crowley groaned. “Okay,” he said. “There’s got to be a way to do this.”  
“I’m very sorry,” said Aziraphale, hugging his book to his chest.   
“Don’t be,” said Crowley. “This might just be awkward.”  
He gripped the back of his seat and gradually walked his hands over until he was gripping on either side of Aziraphale’s head. Slowly, Crowley pulled his leg over, his knee pressing the book into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale held his breath until Crowley had got his leg over into his own area. Crowley turned around and sat down. He positioned the stuffed rabbit so it was sitting on his lap. Aziraphale started breathing again.   
After a few moments of silence Aziraphale murmured, “This is way more difficult than flying should be.”  
Crowley smirked in acknowledgement. “So you haven’t gotten your money’s worth, then?”  
“Worse,” Aziraphale sighed, “I got more than I paid for.”  
He caught Crowley’s eye. The ridiculousness of what they had gone through hit them at the same time and both Crowley and Aziraphale fell into a fit of laughter.   
“Rabbits,” crowed Crowley. “You made a rabbit and the baby totally ignored it.”  
“This is way worse than a train,” giggled Aziraphale.   
“And you made two IDs! No one carries around their father’s ID!”  
“I forgot that the boarding pass had a name on it!”  
“And- and-,” Crowley hiccuped, “you packed a bag for one night!”  
“At least I didn’t pretend to forget what sunglasses are,” Aziraphale returned, wiping his eyes. “And you’re the one who faceplanted into a window!”  
“You can’t blame me for being less flexible than I used to be. It has been 6,000 years.”  
“Yes,” Aziraphale agree. “You’d assume that modes of flying would have improved after 6,000 years.”  
“But it hasn’t!” Crowley guffawed. “It’s gotten worse!”  
Aziraphale chuckled and opened his mouth to reply when he was interrupted by a flight attendant. “Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” she asked.   
“What do you have?” asked Crowley, regaining his composure.   
“Coffee, tea, water, juice, pop, and diet soda.”  
“I’ll have ginger ale,” Crowley said.  
“Tea for me,” said Aziraphale. “With milk, if you have it.”   
“And for a snack would you prefer cookies or pretzels?”  
“I’ll have the pretzels,” Crowley decided.  
“Biscuits please!” Aziraphale answered. The flight attendant handed him a styrafoam cup containing tea and a package of cookies. She then handed Crowley his pretzel packet and plastic cup of ginger ale.   
“Thank you,” blessed Aziraphale as the flight attendant wheeled her iron box trolley away.   
Crowley quickly downed his ginger ale. He studied his packet of pretzels. “What does butter flavouring mean?” he asked Aziraphale.   
“It contain butter?” Aziraphale ventured, sadly staring at his two dry brown cookies trying to pass themselves off as biscotti. He nibbled the corner off one of them. It tasted like molasses.   
“Eugh,” Crowley spat. “These pretzels taste like they were coated in condensed butter!”  
“I’ll trade you a biscuit for a pretzel,” offered Aziraphale. Crowley accepted the trade. Aziraphale popped the small crunchy pretzel into his mouth.   
“You were right,” he told Crowley after swallowing it. “The pretzels are gross.”  
Aziraphale dunked his cookie in his tea and ate it to wash the flavour of fake butter out of his mouth. When soggy the cookie was actually quite decent. Aziraphale relayed this information to Crowley.   
“Hmm,” Crowley sucked on his soggy cookie. “Not bad.”  
Crowley hid the packet of remaining pretzels in the seat pocket in front of him, next to the small bag containing Aziraphale’s mouthwash and hand sanitizer. Aziraphale tucked the empty cups into the seat pocket he was facing.   
“I never ate when I flew,” he told Crowley. “But on this airplane it’s a nice touch. Takes away the foreignness if you know what I mean.”  
Crowley nodded. “I never did that much flying,” he said. “But I know what you mean. It’s strange to fly without feeling the wind.”  
Aziraphale fiddled with the overhead buttons and dials. He turned the dial above Crowley.   
“This one makes a breeze,” he said.   
Crowley relaxed, letting the wind play over his face. Aziraphale started reading his book again.   
The lurches and bumps of the plane became stronger.   
“Aziraphale,” said Crowley nervously. “Do you think this is normal?”  
“I don’t know,” Aziraphale mumbled, paling.   
The plane jolted.   
“Aziraphale??” Crowley’s eyes were wide behind his sunglasses. His knuckles were white where he gripped the arm rest.   
Aziraphale made a muted squeaking noise and gripped his book to his chest. The plane bucked again and Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand on the armrest between them. Crowley’s grip was painfully vice-like and Aziraphale’s hand was sweating but neither of let go. The plane rumbled. The captain’s voice crackled over the speaker system: “We are passing through an area of turbulence, so I ask that everyone return to their seats and fasten their seat belts. Thank you.” The voice clicked off.  
“Are we going to crash?” asked Aziraphale, who had never in all his time flying ever feared crashing, probably because he had never flown in an enclosed metal cylinder with wings.   
“What makessss you think I know that?” Crowley’s hiss was so pronounced that it was difficult to make out what he was saying. “I’ve never flown on an airplane before!”  
The plane bounced again and Aziraphale whimpered and shut his eyes. Despite the combined wishes of Aziraphale and Crowley the plane continued to shake like it was doing the macarena. And then the bouncing slowed and finally went back to normal.   
Crowley took his first breath in ten minutes and released Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale shook feelings back into his fingertips.   
The baby started crying again.   
“Oh, for Satan’s sake!” Crowley cursed.   
Aziraphale hit his forehead with his book in a combination of frustration an resignation.   
“I just want this flight to be over,” he said.  
Crowley slouched in agreement.   
Aziraphale sighed and miracle himself some earplugs. Then he made some for Crowley too.   
“Thanks,” said Crowley. Aziraphale nodded.   
Crowley stared out the window. With the ear plugs in, the plane was blissfully quiet. Crowley admired the poofy tops of the clouds. He suddenly missed flying, the feeling of soaring through the clouds, the small and dusting of water droplets that always accompanied a good cloud. Crowley rested his head against the window and sighed. 

Aziraphale pulled out one of his earplugs to test the sound in the plane. The baby was no longer crying. He pulled out the other. “Crowley,” he said, turning to his companion, “the baby is no longer crying. You can take out your earplugs.”  
Crowley didn’t move. Aziraphale jiggled his arm.   
“Crowley,” he reiterated.   
Crowley hissed dreamily. Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s sunglasses. Crowley’s eyes were closed, his cheek pressed against the window, hissing softly. Aziraphale let him sleep and went back to his book. 

“Crowley.”  
Aziraphale’s voice sounded like it was coming through a pillow.   
“Crowley, we’ve landed!”  
Crowley blinked sleepily. Aziraphale had his bag on the chair and was standing in the isle. Crowley pulled out his earbuds.   
“Will you pass me the small plastic bag?” asked Aziraphale, gesturing at the one in the seat in front of Crowley. Aziraphale’s voice still sounded far away. Crowley passed him the baggy.   
“My ears hurt,” Crowley said. His voice sounded fuzzy as well.   
“That’s not good,” said Aziraphale looking troubled. He helped Crowley out of his seat. Crowley still held the stuffed rabbit. As Aziraphale led him towards the front of the plane Crowley rubbed at his ears. It felt like something was barricaded inside his head and trying to escape through his ears. Crowley yawned and the dams in his ears burst simultaneously with audible pops.   
“Ow!” Crowley yelped in surprise.   
“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked in concern. His voice came through to Crowley clearly.   
“All better now, I think.”  
They wandered out of the plane, through the airport, and out the front doors. The air was refreshing.   
“What was your plan for getting back?” asked Aziraphale, almost reluctantly.   
Crowley pondered this. “Flying?” he ventured.   
Aziraphale grimaced. “I think I’ve had enough of airplanes for one day.”  
“No, no, no,” corrected Crowley. “I meant actualy flying. Like, with wings. Our wings.”  
“Oh!” Aziraphale brightened. “I’m in!”  
They set off to find a place that was secluded enough to let their wings unfold and then took off in the direction of the airport where Crowley’s car was parked. There were many good clouds along the way, and Aziraphale and Crowley enjoyed the feeling of flying through all of them. Once they had landed they retrieved Crowley’s car and headed back to life on the ground.


End file.
